Slouching Towards Euphoria: Harvey's

I've been avoiding writing about this Harvey's because it's my main watering hole. (In this neighborhood, I avoid calling it a watering hole; gays cannot pass up innuendo.) But they have just redone the place, and I got some space to fill (Jesus, more double entendres). This bar carries San Francisco history. The bar is named after assassinated city supervisor, Harvey Milk. Back when it was called The Elephant Walk, the San Francisco Police, in retaliation for the White Night Riots, came in here and destroyed the place along with cracking a few heads.

An excellent history of The Elephant Walk can be found here.

The bar is much more sedate these days. Most nights, it closes before midnight. But I like it for that very reason. Most bars around here are meat markets with loud dance music. When I want just want a quiet drink and talk to a friend, it's the place to do it. They also serve food, which is mostly hit and miss. Like The Edge, Twin Peaks, and Moby Dick, tall windows line the outside walls, so people are content to eat and drink and watch the people go by. The windows are symbolic too, letting people know there is nothing to hide inside. The new decor is slightly bland. Soon they will put up more art and a tribute to Milk, but for now it sort of resembles someone's rumpus room circa 1979.

The staff is really cool, laid back and very attentive—so attentive that I usually end up stumbling home. Which isn't too bad, but it is uphill. They are also patient with my sometimes elaborate drink requests. The choice of booze is limited. I wouldn't mind a passtisse or a good single malt scotch, but their shelving is limited. They have trivia nights and drag nights and lesbian nights. Soon they will have a D.J. booth. I'm not sure if that'll be to my liking, but the masses have got to boogie.

I guess what I like most about it is the local hangout feel it has. It feels like a gay Cheers. And after a couple of drinks, there is a definite laugh track.

The Fang of the Green Fairy

Absinthe will now be legally sold in the U.S. Sort of. According to this New York Times article, a brand called, Lucid will be made without the Wormwood ingredient, thujone. That might be beside the point, since not much thjone is found in real absinthe, and it's poisonous properties weren't that bad anyway. The banning of absinthe was one of the many instances of a tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing, that is to say, a panic with no basis in reality, but that hasn't stopped our lawmakers before. I hate to agree with the batshit-crazy libertarians, but we do have a nanny state.

Anyway, Lucid will have a "a slightly cleaner, crisper taste than its European peers." Which sounds like a wimped out version. I wish we didn't have a propensity for drinks that taste either like nothing or a mouthful of sugar. Lucid will go $60 a bottle. Because of the ban, absinthe is ridiculously expensive. I think I prefer the European versions, which you can buy legally over the internet. If you have never tried Absinthe, I recommend it; the high makes you feel quite thoughtful, lucid perhaps.

The Sweet Sin of Gin

The New York Times had a gin comparison in their dining section today. Evidently they tried eighty gin martinis between four people. I like those odds. But even better was this well-made point:

“Before we discuss the findings, though, we need to clear up a little matter. It’s come to my attention that some people believe martinis are made with vodka. I hate to get snobbish about it, but a martini should be made with gin or it’s not a martini. Call it a vodkatini if you must, but not a martini. Gin and vodka have as much in common hierarchically as a president and a vice president. Vodka can fill in for gin from time to time and might even be given certain ceremonial duties of its own, but at important moments you need the real thing. Vodka generally makes a poor substitute for gin in a martini or any other gin cocktail.”

Hallelujah, brother, Testify! I hate to be redundant when ordering, but with the vodka craze—that thankfully is ebbing—I have to order a “gin” martini, so I won’t get the bastardized kind. Luckily gin is coming around again, the NY Times article lists a great many that I have not tried. But I will, oh yes, I will. First one I will try is Plymouth, which they think is the best for a martini.

A side note: I’m very cautious when ordering a martini. I go by a couple of rules.

Really good-looking bartender = I order a beer. Usually these guys and gals are hired to be eye candy, and have not learned the finesse of mixing. There are always exceptions, but beware.

Also, Irish/English/Scottish pubs = I order a beer or a scotch. When in Rome, or Dublin…

Dance clubs = puh-leeze; they don’t even carry cocktail glasses. It’s beer or a vodka and cranberry juice.

The best place for martinis are hotel bars, lounges, or punk clubs with rockabilly bartenders. Hotel bars with their starched shirts and inflated prices are pretentious but they do mix well, especially if there is an old timer behind the bar. Lounges can be hit or miss, but at least they try. Rockabilly bartenders are very proud of their martinis and they are usually great.

Even so bartenders still shake a martini. I don’t know about bruising, but I don’t want to see ice shards in my martini. A martini should be pure, like a calm lake. It is a preview of how my soul will be after the imbibing. Drinking is not just taste and smell; it is visual (and it is aural when you clink someone’s glass in a toast.). See, don’t get me started on martinis. Shesh.